Morgana isn't a Snow Queen
by MrsDanversbinich
Summary: "Her dark, matted hair fell into her face, and she was sure that tiny ice crystals were clinging to the tips." It's cold and snowing, and Morgana is alone in her tower, but not for long... Just fluffy nonsense. Set sometime in S4/S5.


Morgana awoke shivering violently; even sleeping in her dress and placing her thick coat on top of the covers had not been enough to keep the chill out. Her arms and hands were numb, her lips dry and cracked.

No longer did she have a maid to prepare a fire before she awoke, or draw her a bath to step straight into and chase the chill away. No longer did she have anyone at all, but Morgana was currently too cold to lament anything other than the ice-cold state of her body.

She sat, drawing the heavy coat around herself and grinding her teeth to stop them chattering. Her dark, matted hair fell into her face, and she was sure that tiny ice crystals were clinging to the tips. She moaned in disgust, tossing her hair back and climbing clumsily on cold feet from the bed, dashing to the fire.

It did not escape her notice that she looked much as she had when she was younger, back in Camelot, and had been left without a maid. It infuriated her that she seemed unable to prevent herself thinking of maids, and therefore Gwen, for more than a few minutes.

The fire finally lit, Morgana held first one foot, then the other, as close to the tongues of flame as she dared, twitching her toes as she tried to regain feeling. She could see that outside the sky was a dark, foreboding grey, heavy with snow, and that the cause of her cold was most likely the thick drifts which had piled up during the night.

Even as she watched, tiny flakes began to swirl down past the window, but it did not bring the same magic and excitement it once had. It was pale, chilling, unwelcome. Morgana felt a sudden, strange affinity with the weather.

Shuddering at the damp feeling of the leather, she slid her feet into her boots. A little of the snow had drifted in, forming a small mound beneath the window, which was rapidly melting in the face of the fire, but there was nothing to staunch the puddle of water. There was nothing to eat or drink, no clean clothes, no m- Morgana threw down her coat angrily. She would not indulge in any more pathetic thoughts of Camelot.

She started when she heard something strike the floor behind her, whipping around quickly to see who dared disturb her, to violate the one place she had left. "Show yourself!" she cried, grabbing her dagger up from the small table, but all she found amiss was a small stone in front of the window. As she waited, another one arced in to join it, followed by a thin voice which made her shake her head in confusion.

"Morgana? M-Morgana?"  
It absolutely couldn't be. Could it?

Unable to help herself, she dashed to the window, seeing the young woman below, her dark skin and startlingly red dress standing out against the miles of snow she could see. The queen of Camelot was outside, in the snow, and she seemed to be alone.

"It's not a trap, Morgana." Her teeth were chattering so hard she could barely speak coherently. "Please?"

Even after so much time, even after knowing what Arthur wanted to do to her, Morgana knew that Gwen - for she still thought of the woman as Gwen, not as Guinevere, Queen of Camelot - would not mean her harm. She flew down the stairs, flicking her hand to dislodge the thick pieces of wood barricading the door.

"Come," she murmured, shivering the instant she stepped outside, holding her hand out to Gwen. It was only then she noticed that the woman's horse was weighed down by all manner of blankets and wrapped packages. "What...?" she began, looking askance at Gwen who flushed, dipping her head and looking shyly away in a most appealing way, they way she did when she used to bring Morgana flowers.

"I brought you some blankets and some food. I couldn't bear the idea of you cold and hungry in this sort of weather." She stepped back towards her tethered horse, but Morgana found that for a moment, she was completely unable to move, even to help. The idea that Gwen would do such a thing for her, in spite of the person she had become, moved her almost to tears.

"Guin," she whispered, using the name only she had ever called her handmaiden, "Guin, I don't know what to say." She swiped away a tear, partly because she didn't want the elder woman to see, and partly because she was concerned it may freeze on her cheek.

"Don't say anything, just help me with these blankets?" Gwen asked, with a small, nervous smile.

"Of course, of course," Morgana murmured, stepping closer, able to recognise the familiar scent simply of Gwen. "But first, may I...?" She opened her arms to the elder woman, subconsciously holding her breath as she waited, and Gwen looked slowly up at her, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

"Morgana!" she choked out, forgetting everything except how much comfort she had found in those arms in the past. She embraced Morgana in return, holding her as tightly as she could, almost delirious with the memories which rushed upon her without warning.

"Hush Guin," Morgana whispered tenderly, cupping her hand against the back of Gwen's head, luxuriating in the feel of her thick, soft hair.

"I'm doing this because we're friends," Gwen whispered into Morgana's hair, "we always have been."


End file.
